


Borealia

by Aech_Left



Category: Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Aftercare, Blood, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Crying, Dream Sex, Fear, Fever, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, M/M, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Post-Season/Series 03, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Nigel (Charlie Countryman), Protectiveness, Running Away, Scars, Sweat, Symbolism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27600022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aech_Left/pseuds/Aech_Left
Summary: Preface:Instead of being killed at the end of the movie, Nigel goes for the railing, getting shot but making it over anyway and falling into the water below. He escapes. Will and Hannibal both survived, after only spending a short while in a motel with Hannibal tending to their injuries, Will fled in the middle of the night, leaving Hannibal all alone.---How will Will handle running into a man that looks just like Hannibal? How will Nigel navigate this new potential obsession? How far will Hannibal go to get back what's his?---Hannibal is bad for Will, Nigel is different but still an unhealthy match.’So maybe I'm not supposed to be in a relationship. There's people like that... just those kind of people who shouldn't be in a relationship. You and I are already committed. It's hard to be with another person when you... can't get out of your own head.’ ~ Abel Gideon
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Nigel (Charlie Countryman)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 127





	1. The Great White North

**Author's Note:**

> Not completely sure how serious I am about this fic. Let me know what you think. :)

A small abandoned cabin in the middle of the Canadian woods serves Will just fine. He wishes he had his dogs but beggars can’t be choosers. He has only gone into town once so far, and that was when he rented the cheap cabin. He’s honestly more afraid of being found by Hannibal than the police. He isn’t healed though, he’s pulled his stitches a couple of times during nightmares and now it seems to be getting infected as well. He has to go to the store soon. He puts it off until he’s got a fever and wakes up with a concerning amount of blood on him from the torn-again wound.

Nigel has been bouncing from place to place for a while after healing up, he figured he’d see if Canada is as bad as he imagines it is. He hates the cold. Hates the fucking snow. But because of that, it’s the last place anybody would look for him. That’s why he’s surprised when a man seems to recognize him in a 24-hour convenience store at nearly midnight. That isn’t good. At least the man is afraid of him and not stupidly bold to shout his name, then he’d have to kill the whole fucking store and that wouldn’t be good for anyone. He still buys his smokes before following the man down the street. He didn’t make eye contact so he hopes the guy doesn’t know he’s onto him. The brunette turns a corner and gets into a car, frantically starting it and pulling off. Will would rather not put any passers-by in danger by causing a scene in public. If he has to kill Hannibal then he’d rather do it in a way that he can still maintain his own anonymity. 

Nigel gets into his own stolen vehicle and follows, he’s obviously being lured. He digs through his memories, wondering if he should recognize the guy. They go way out to nowhere and Nigel makes sure his gun is primed and ready. Finally, the car pulls off onto a long driveway, it leads to a small cabin and the brunette gets out. He follows the cue and gets out, pack of cigarettes in hand.

Nigel lights the cigarette and approaches, the man turns and points a gun right at his face. “Hannibal, stop.” The man says with a firm but fear edged voice. 

“Hannibal?” Nigel questions, not feeling the need to pull his own weapon yet. He takes a drag and blows the smoke off to the side. The man seems to examine him further now. Will is feeling very confused at the appearance of Hannibal, even for laying low he couldn’t imagine the man wearing that shirt or smoking a cigarette. He falters in his stance even more upon noticing the neck tattoo. 

“Who are you?” He stutters, lowering the gun an inch.

Nigel takes another puff before taking the cigarette from his mouth to speak. “I’m Nigel who the fuck are you?” He takes a step forward only to have the gun go right back up to its deadly position. That voice isn’t Hannibal’s either, the accent is different, his tone is too rough, years of smoking have clearly had an impact. Not to mention that the psychiatrist wasn’t really one to cuss unless as an intelligent rebuttal. This definitively could not be Hannibal in disguise. 

“Sorry, you just look like someone I used to know.” He lowers the gun completely but doesn’t put it away, still uneasy as the man did follow him for some reason. “I’m Walter.” He lies, not daring enough to give out his real name.

“I look like-“ he cuts himself off with a laugh, he’s never been told he looks just like anyone besides himself. He’s thought himself quite unique but apparently, he looks so similar to some other guy that it warranted a gun being pulled on him. “I don’t hear that every day.” He laughs, openly in a way Hannibal never did. Will winces when he shifts his weight wrong, he didn’t buy anything at the store due to seeing Hannibal’s apparent doppelgänger. “Are you alright Walter?” Nigel asks, watching as Will goes to lean on his car for a moment. 

“Yeah.” Will lies again, wanting to check on the festering wound but not willing to just blatantly show his weakness to a guy who had zero fear staring down a pistol pointing at his head. He swallows, maybe he should’ve stayed with Hannibal until he was more healed up. No, then it would’ve been easier for the man to follow him. 

Will runs his hand through his hair, effectively pushing the brown locks out of his face and letting the moonlight show on his skin. Nigel gets to see the man better now. Blue eyes and long lashes, pretty pink lips, a shocking scar on his head, and a large bandage on the side of his face. This man has a story and Nigel thinks it must be a damn good one too. “Oh, darling, who did that to your pretty face?” It’s like seeing an adorable little puppy with battle scars. It’s somewhat jarring really and Nigel just has to know more.

“Why did you follow me? Since you aren’t Hannibal I don’t understand what purpose that served you.” He ignores Nigel’s question and the pet name in favor of cutting to the chase, his headache is turning into something awful and he feels like collapsing.

“I’m a bad man. I thought you might’ve recognized me and that simply couldn’t be allowed.” He admits, clearly, this guy whose name definitely isn’t Walter is running too. Running from what has to be a real fucked up mess. 

“You were going to kill me?” Will thinks about aiming his gun again but he feels too lethargic to do so.

“You had a similar plan did you not?” Nigel jabs back.

“Only if I had to...” Will slides down to sit in the snow, it feels good to his overheating body. He fights to stay conscious but quickly loses, vision fading to black.

“Are you fucking dying?” Nigel walks over, frowning at how the man has gone limp. “Fuck.” He takes the gun from Will’s hand first, putting it in his waistband next to his own. Nigel hefts Will up and over his shoulder without much trouble. The door to the cabin is unlocked so he luckily doesn’t have to try and find a key anywhere. It smells like it hadn’t been occupied for a long time. ‘Walter’ hasn’t been here long and Nigel bets it was paid for with cash so he isn’t traced.

When Will wakes up he’s terrified and confused, Hannibal is changing his bandages. He suddenly feels very afraid of being given a paralytic or sedative and jerks away. “No, Hannibal please no...” His voice is pleading and quick. 

Rough hands grip his shoulders and hold him in place. “Shh...” Smoke blows out with the hushing and it’s then that he notices the cigarette hanging from Hannibal’s lips. Not Hannibal, Nigel. He visibly relaxes even though he could still very well be in danger. 

“You have quite the fucking fever, darling.” Nigel informs before posing a question, “Did your Hannibal give you these?” He raises his brows.

“No.” Then Will’s hand goes to his forehead, pointing to the scar, then it goes down to his neck, and there are multiple small scars from Hannibal’s ‘love bites.’ He continues his personal evil minds exhibition, trailing his hand down to his belly and the rather horrific scar there. “Those are Hannibal’s, however, I would have a great case to make that they are all his doing. His...  _ design _ . All except for one,” he thinks about the scar on the back of his shoulder. Stabbed as a cop, what simpler times. He had thought that was scary, he longs for the time when that was his worst experience with a blade. Nigel is impressed, clearly, this ‘Walter’ is a survivor. A damn tough one too.

“Is he in love with you?” He presents the question bluntly, he thinks he can relate to this Hannibal more than he should.

“I’m sure that he thinks that it’s love. It’s an obsession.” Will wonders if it’s even possible for Hannibal to have something as pure as love in his heart. 

“Love turns me a bit crazy too if I’m honest with you. Not quite this crazy though.” He muses, resuming his bandaging. 

“You have someone like me running away from you?” Will asks, wondering if he ran away from Hannibal just to find someone who not only looks like him but also shares one of his worst traits.

“Well, my dear Gabriella isn’t running. I’m sure she’s just fucking thriving, frolicking around back in Bucharest without a care in the fucking world. I didn’t put any scars on her if that’s what you mean,” he clarifies before adding onto his mini-story. “Full disclosure now, I did put a few on her man, tried to kill him in fact. Fucking Charlie...” He curses the man under his breath. Should’ve drowned him while they were both swimming, he wouldn’t have had time to escape if he had but it just might’ve been worth it.

Will is glad this man doesn’t talk in metaphors or with carefully hidden meanings between lines. He’s straightforward and that is extremely refreshing to someone who’s been dealing with the terrible slinking shadows of Hannibal’s mind games for years. “Seems you’ve let her go... Mostly anyway. I’m not sure Hannibal is capable of doing so in any capacity without making a meal of me.” He smiles woodenly. Nigel would’ve normally thought it a metaphor for sex but the context and the way the brunette said it made him uneasy.

“ _ Hannibal _ is a  _ cannibal? _ ” Nigel’s eyebrows are raised in hilarious disbelief. 

“That’s his byline.” Will can’t help but see Chilton’s charred body as he accused him of setting it up like that on purpose, hand on him like a pet. 

“What’s your real name? I gave you mine.” Nigel needs a proper name to put to this stunning face.

“It’s Will.” He admits it now. He sees no further point in hiding it from someone who’s helping him and also clearly not on the right side of the law.

“ _ Will _ ,” it feels so perfect rolling off of his tongue, “I have to tell you something. Can I tell you something?” He smiles, putting his cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand and leaning back after finishing his work.

“Yeah?” Will asks, seeing such an unhidden smile on that familiar but not quite right face confuses his brain. It’s a feeling similar to uncanny valley.

“You are completely and utterly fucking perfect.” Nigel lays it on him and Will has no idea how to properly respond to that.

“I’d try to say I’m not but you seem like the kind of person who wouldn’t let me refute your claims.” He replies the best way he knows how, by half-heartedly analyzing the man in front of him.

“You are correct. One other thing, do you commonly yell in your sleep? Scared the fucking shit out of me last night.” Nigel remembers pulling his gun after being startled awake. He was surprised to find the man completely asleep right where he left him.

Will wants to cover his face, he doesn’t look into those too similar but wrong eyes. “Yeah, I’m plagued by all of the nightmares one could ever want.” He jokes dryly, they used to be about the cases he worked but now it’s all Hannibal. He gets disemboweled with a kiss, gored by a stag with Hannibal’s voice, and he gets his brain fed to him and Jack as an overdue continuation to their interrupted meal. The worst is when he sees Molly and Wally dead with himself as the culprit and Hannibal singing his praises, kissing his neck and licking their fresh blood from his skin. He has to shake his head to force the tainted thoughts out. 

“You hungry? I can promise you that I won’t be serving human.” Nigel jokes but he wonders if it’s too soon for the man because he doesn’t get a laugh.

“I don’t have an appetite but yeah.” He swallows, he knows that he has to eat or his body will have even more trouble healing. 

“I’ve got Chinese in the fridge.” The sentence would be horrific coming from Hannibal, a double meaning clear as day, but this isn’t him, this is Nigel. “I will heat it up and be right back.” The older man stands and Will notices that Nigel is also more built than Hannibal, the more he looks at him the more and more differences he can spot. The length of hair, tint of skin, and even just the air around him are different. He doesn’t have Hannibal’s falsity, underlying danger, or sneakiness. Nigel has got a less theatrical presentation, his intimidation isn’t hidden, and he has a more tangible virility. It’s only a handful of minutes before the man returns with two plates. 

Nigel finishes his first but remains where he is, contentedly watching Will eat. “Am I that interesting?” Will asks after swallowing a mouthful of pork fried rice. 

“Yes of course, gorgeous.” An easy smile settles on Nigel’s lips.

“Are you planning on staying here?” Will asks, wondering what kind of situation he’s gotten himself into. Being alone meant if Hannibal really did show up then he’d likely never see him coming unless the killer wanted him to. He isn’t totally opposed to having something akin to a guard dog around.

“Not if you don’t want me to, but I must say this is nicer than my motel.” He chuckles, hoping he isn’t going to be kicked out by the scarred American beauty. 

“You can stay, from what I can tell you don’t intend to hurt me.” He read so in the man’s tone of voice and cadence, no building tension or sinister plans hidden behind sweet words. As much as he knows that Nigel isn’t a good man, he at least seems to be a genuine one.

“Lucky me. If your Hannibal shows up do you want me to kill him or would you rather do the honors?” Nigel talks like they’re already close friends and Will doesn’t know how he should feel about that detailing.

“I don’t know. I never know what I really intend to do when it has to do with him. Kill him or don’t kill him, kiss him or hit him, run to him or run away from him, and at this point, I can’t tell if he scrambled my brain this way or if I was already like this.” He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, he’s unable to look into brown-red eyes that are so much like the eyes of the monster who chases after him.

“If  _ I _ kissed you would you hit me?” Nigel asks, wishing blue eyes would look into his.

“Right now I can’t look at you without seeing him. I need time to adjust to the extreme like-ness you bear to him. If you’re willing to wait then you might have a chance.” Will chuckles, not knowing whether he wants it or not. This guy has admitted to being a killer and having a similar problem with getting obsessed like Hannibal. Why is he so tempted to get involved with him when it could turn out disastrously just like last time? Maybe he’s just attracted to bad men, or maybe bad men are attracted to him and he just gets caught up in his own desperation for human contact. 


	2. Sought and Seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal’s reaction and thoughts on Will’s disappearance, Nigel fights Will’s fever, and Will is seeing Nigel as his own person.

As soon as Hannibal woke, he knew immediately that something was very wrong, Will wasn’t in bed with him. Will should still be asleep but he isn’t there. He gets up, holding his abdomen where the bullet wound is. He checks the bathroom but he already knew it would be empty. Will _left_ him and didn’t even have the common courtesy to leave a note. How terribly rude his lover is being. He sits down on the edge of the bed to gather his thoughts. Will doesn’t have the money to go overseas so he’s either still in the states, in Canada, or Mexico. 

He bets the man decided to go big or go home and definitely left the states. Will doesn’t know Spanish and would want to go somewhere that he could disappear into the background. Will doesn’t mind the cold and prefers it over hot weather. He surely went to Canada. He’d want some semblance of normality so he won’t be in the city. Hannibal knows generally where he has to go but Canada is a big country with many places his Will could hole up. “If you wanted to go to Canada you could’ve just asked, Will. I would have taken you.” He speaks aloud to someone who isn’t here. He’s already feeling the absence like a hole in his chest.

As much as he’d like to hit the road immediately, he still has a bullet wound, travel and excess stress wouldn’t be good for it. He’ll have to let it heal, at least most of the way. Sooner or later he’s sure Will will be needing medical attention. The younger man will likely be too paranoid to go into a store and he didn’t exactly take ample supplies. If it gets too dire he may even call Hannibal all on his own. As lovely of a thought that it is, it’s much more likely that Will would just succumb to infection and die alone. That is a disconcerting possibility. 

He’ll find Will, it’s destined that they’ll be back together. He’ll nurse his lover back to health first, taking care of him diligently, and telling him how glad he is that he’s alright. Only once he’s stable and back in his arms where he belongs will Hannibal give him his much-deserved punishment. He’d love to take a leg, finally taste Will’s flesh, dine on it, but he’s not ready to take such a large piece just yet. Breaking his ankles might be better than severing tendons. If he makes him permanently unable to walk then the muscles will atrophy and when he is ready to remove what’s below the knee or pelvis there won’t be as much meat as there should be. That would be regrettable and he doesn’t like having regrets.

Clean breaks will ensure that they heal properly, he’ll make sure that Will knows how hurtful his actions were. Will can learn to cope, can understand why what he did is unacceptable, and why punishment is necessary. They can even stay in Canada if Will would like, it really is quite beautiful there. Will is smart, he can learn to be happy with what Hannibal provides him. 

——

Will has been sleeping a lot, almost a concerning amount, and Nigel has been trying to break the stubborn fever to no avail. He has also found that it’s consistently disheartening to wake the man from a nightmare and when he finally sees blue eyes peer up at him, they turn icy grey with fear. Luckily, he always eventually recognizes that Nigel really isn’t the cannibal after all and relaxes back into bed. It’s a horrible feeling, trying to help but being looked at like he’s the sole cause of his pain. It’s getting quicker, his recognition of Nigel, and that is a promising sign. He kisses a pale, calloused palm. Will obviously has some skill or hobby that he isn’t yet privy to. He hopes it isn’t the cello.

Will is going to need a proper shower eventually but until he’s well enough for it Nigel is content using a bowl of warm soapy water and a rag. Will really is beautiful, the scars tell a violent tale of love and heartbreak, of betrayal and forgiveness. How many times did Will go back to Hannibal, let things slide that he shouldn’t have, give his heart up, and place it into red hands? The sutured wounds are finally starting to calm down, becoming less inflamed, and not as aggravated of a red. With the infection dissipating, Will’s fever should begin to go down. 

Will knows that only a few days must’ve passed since he came to have Nigel caring for him but his memory is spotty and it feels like he’s been practically bedridden for weeks at this point. He wants to get up and be up for longer than a bathroom trip. He wants to go fishing, wants to work on flies with his gear, and play the day away with his dogs. He’s vaguely aware when Nigel kisses his hand sweetly but he’s not quite awake yet. It feels like a personal victory that he knows immediately who this is by his side, that he doesn’t automatically assume the worst, and that it’s Hannibal come to steal him away. Nigel is wiping Will down with a soft washcloth, inspecting the healing stab wounds, and applying antibiotic ointment to them. “Your fever is finally going down, darling, do you feel any better?” Nigel questions, capping the tube of ointment.

“Yeah.” He answers, pleasantly surprised that he isn’t currently in pain. “Thank you, _Nigel_.” The name feels odd leaving his mouth and he thinks that it just might be the first time he’s said the man’s name out loud. He guesses he’s right because Nigel gets a great big smile on his face once he hears it.

“Oh Will, nobody says my name quite as beautifully as you.” He gives Will a peck on the forehead and looks longingly into baby blue eyes.

“I guess I’m finally managing to separate the two of you.” Will concedes. He wonders if being around Nigel is therapeutic. Some kind of positive association, same face but new, better experiences.

“You’re finally seeing me.” Nigel brushes soft brown locks out of Will’s face to more clearly look at him. “I was getting worried you’d only ever see him. I don’t enjoy seeing you frightened of me.” It’s odd to say that, to say it and mean it. He always loved when people feared him, made him feel powerful and secure. With Will, however, he wants the man to feel safe and protected around him.

Nigel thinks that while himself and this Hannibal fellow seem to share more than just a physical appearance, while they may be cut from the same cloth, they are certainly not the same beyond that. Hannibal had Will’s heart in his hands and deemed it appropriate to grind it into mincemeat, to maim him both physically and mentally. If he does that to the one he loves, what does he do to the ones that he hates? The answer is plain and it puts a knot in Nigel’s gut, he _eats_ them. He swallows to get off that track and instead reflects on his own failed love. For as much as he loved Gabi, she would never need him the way he needed her. The relationship was too one-sided. Will needs him, is depending on him, and Nigel for damn sure isn’t going to leave and let the wolf come snatch him up without a fight.

“You don’t frighten me, Nigel.” Will can see how it appears to bring ease to the rough man. “What does frighten me is that he will certainly come. When he does, he will try to kill you. I don’t want you dead on my behalf, especially considering he’ll get me anyway.” Will wonders if it’s the painkillers making him loose-lipped or if he’s just willingly being vulnerable.

“Many have tried to kill me, Will. None have yet succeeded.” He speaks with radiant confidence, another trait he and Hannibal share.

“None have succeeded in taking him down either and he loves to dole out punishment...” He sees the curiosity in Nigel’s maroon eyes. “Do you want the story-“ he coughs, “-my story with Hannibal?” Will questions, eyes flitting up to Nigel’s expression.

Nigel does want it, desperately wants the story but only on Will’s time. “Only if you want to tell it. Might feel good to lessen the weight of it, share the burden. -Fuck, not that it’s a burden for me, darling, ah, but you know...” He mentally berates himself, he definitely wouldn’t consider himself a fucking wordsmith. Comfort is also not something that he’s intimately familiar with.

“I want to shower. Then I’ll tell you.” Will sits up further.

“I hope you’re alright with my help, I’m not going to let you slip and crack your fucking skull open because you want your fucking privacy.” He snickers, resisting the urge to stroke Will’s face.

“What privacy? You’ve already seen all of me.” He lets himself smile too, an unforced, and relaxed smile. “Shower with me.” He didn’t really mean to say it as genuinely as it came out, a small blush creeps up his cheeks.

_“_ _Fuck_ , I will do anything you want, gorgeous.” Nigel wants to kiss Will, make a right mess of him for the sexy way he spoke, but he must have patience. Will scoots to the edge and gets to his feet gingerly, testing his balance. Nigel steadies him as they walk the short distance to the bathroom. Leaning on him for support, he feels how much more solid he is than Hannibal. Hannibal is certainly not weak but like his mask of harmlessness, he doesn’t have a frame that immediately strikes you as dangerous. Nigel wears his heart on his sleeve and his mask in his pocket.

He steps out of his baby blue boxers while Nigel starts the water. “Good?” Nigel glances over his shoulder, asking Will to check whether the temperature is suitable. Will lets the water hit his hand and nods, it’s a little too warm for his preferences but that will be good for his fever. He steps in while Nigel undresses. Tanned skin comes into view, he tries not to balk at the ragged scar down Nigel’s side but his expression is noticed. “Healed bad, didn’t it? Took fucking ages. Got infected at one point too.” He comments, continuing to strip but finding himself wishing he’d smoked beforehand.

“Who?” Will asks, leaning on the wall to keep his balance. The water stings when it runs over the injuries but it isn’t as bad as he’d been bracing himself for.

“Just some fucking cocksucker.” He answers, “I killed him but for weeks I thought that he just might’ve killed me too.” He grits his teeth, cello ringing against the back of his skull.

Will doesn’t know what to say, it certainly looks rough, looks like it probably still hurts sometimes. “Some people only understand violence,” Will mutters, remembering when Chiyoh told him that violence is what he understands. He thinks that she was right. Even after three years of peace, he slipped oh so easily back into old, dangerous habits. 

“Does that bother you, that I’m one of those people?” Nigel steps into the shower, ashen hair turning dark from the water.

“No, I’m one of those people too. Hannibal’s protector told me so, after kissing me but before shoving me off of the moving train.” He says it with a light tone, looking up into maroon eyes that belong to Nigel and only Nigel.

“Kiss me or hit me gorgeous.” Nigel’s tone is low, eyes flitting down to Will’s lips as he leans closer. Patience was never Nigel’s strong suit. Will closes the distance, pressing their mouths together. Nigel could melt, the fucking love. One of his hands finds a place on the small of Will’s back, the other goes to cradle Will’s jaw, caressing the side of his neck. Will can tell how Nigel is holding back, not wanting to hurt him. It’s precious. He knows that Nigel isn’t the type to normally kiss like this, so gently, but the fact that he’s doing so is a testament to his intentions. Will loves how sweet it is but he doesn’t want Nigel to get the wrong idea, doesn’t want to be seen as breakable.

“I’m not a fragile little teacup,” Will pulls away to say.

“I know, _these_ told me that.” Nigel takes the hand from Will’s back and runs a finger over the largest scar, the big smile across his abdomen. “I’m not worried about you,” It’s a half lie, “I’m just worried about sending you back into that fucking fever.” 

“I guess that’s fair.” Will kisses him again, chastely this time, and grabs the soap. His last kiss in the shower hadn’t been nearly so pleasant...

——

After their fall, Hannibal and Will had gone to Bedelia’s to clean up, have dinner. They wouldn’t be able to stay long, Jack would be on their trail soon. After getting stitched up they both got into the walk-in shower, the water turned glassy crimson as it flooded down the drain. Despite the blood loss and pain, Hannibal seemed elated like Will had never seen him. “This is our beginning Will. The prologue is over, we’re free.” He says it with his usual dramatics but it’s breathtakingly genuine. Mask off, veil burned, Hannibal is living his truth, no person-suit needed anymore.

He allowed Hannibal to kiss him, no need to rain on his parade when he’s in such a good mood. It did hurt, he had been stabbed in the face recently after all, but he let it happen nonetheless. Hannibal deepened it, seeming to have every intention of devouring him right there even with a bullet wound. It tastes like iron, blood still heavily present in his mouth. Will’s cries of pain were swallowed whole, he had to bite the man’s tongue to get him to let up. Hannibal seemed to have liked that too. “Dear Will, _I love you_.” It hadn’t been said aloud before, not like this, not as a true declaration. It had always been hidden inside other phrases, presented with theatrics, and bolstered through gifts.

He was held close for a moment before he realized what Hannibal wanted from him, “I love you too.” The words fell from his lips, true but untrue. It’s a love laced with deep-seated malice, it’s lifespan is predicted to be short. He’ll end up on the dinner table eventually and if not, then he’ll likely turn into just as much of a monster as Hannibal. Stockholm syndrome is inevitable if he stays. He strokes the side of Hannibal’s face, heart softening at the way the killer leans into his touch. He has got to worry about his survival and not this terribly lethal romance. 

He’ll have to run, and run far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you’re liking it :)  
> 


	3. Rival, Pig, or Pest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will tells the sordid tale of how he came to be in this particular predicament. It's a long story.

Nigel decided that pizza would be a good food choice for the story, he had joked that it’s not as noisy as popcorn. Will finds that he’s actually pretty excited to be eating such ordinary takeout, delivery in this case. Hannibal would be offended by the mediocre presentation and overuse of garlic. They sit at the kitchen table and after eating a slice Will decides to begin. “I wanted to be FBI but I didn’t pass the screening process. Then I got stabbed as a cop and didn’t have the stomach for pulling the trigger,” he gestures to the scar on the back of his right shoulder, “so I went a different route and became a forensics teacher for the FBI.”

“FBI, huh?” He hums in awe. “Well I haven’t personally had to deal with them but I had associates who said that the FBI is a serious pain in the ass.”

Will laughs airily, “certainly a pain in mine,” he mutters it lowly. 

“So how’d you go from FBI to a man on the run from a cannibal and putting up with a criminal from Bucharest in Canada?” Nigel dips his uneven pizza slice into garlic sauce, taking a big bite as he waits for Will to continue.

He waves him off, “we’ll get there, I said it was a long story, Nigel.” He chuckles nearly silently before continuing, “Anyways, I was doing well as a teacher, relatively speaking, but then Jack came calling. If I’d just put my foot down and said no then I wouldn’t be here.” If only he had. “Jack wanted me to help on cases because of the way my mind works but he also wanted me to be secure in my own head so he set me up with a reputable psychiatrist recommended by Alana, Dr. Hannibal Lecter.” He remembers feeling like he had a real friend for the first time in his adult life. Oh, how that feeling has soured.

“Ah,” Nigel acknowledges the name drop.

“He analyzed me the first time we met, with how _rude_ I was I’m surprised he didn’t just decide to eat me instead of pursuing me. He came to my hotel one morning, brought me breakfast. Pretty sure the ‘sausage’ was actually the lungs of a young woman whose case was a copycat of the one I was working.” He swallows, pushing the mental images away so he can still enjoy the pizza. “I told him I didn’t find him that interesting, he said I would. Quite right, he was _always_ right. He foiled the investigation, warning Garret Jacob Hobbs that we were coming. I ended up killing him, shot every bullet in the clip but he still partially slit her neck. I’m no medic and I was panicking. I couldn’t do anything to stop the bleeding but Hannibal stepped in and saved her life.” He feels like he’s dragging on but Nigel doesn’t seem like he thinks so.

“She became like a daughter to me and Hannibal reinforced it by continuously telling me how we had to look out for her, protect her. I became fond of him, he wasn’t officially my psychiatrist at the time so I let him kiss me after my appointment once, after he _smelled_ me.” He doesn’t address the look Nigel shoots him. “Once turned into a few more times but I was still too awkward and uncomfortable with the situation to let him take me to bed. I then ended up kissing my friend Alana but I felt oddly compelled to tell him about it, he gave me a bite that night.” He touches the faint scars left by Hannibal’s teeth. “That was the first time his sadism had slipped, I was a little put off by it so I refused his advances, I didn’t need anything else on my plate.” He derails that train of thought to continue on a linear path.

“He sent me right into a killer's den, Tobias, he made instrument strings from human entrails.” He briefly explains that killers design before continuing. “Maybe it was frustration about being rejected or maybe it was simple curiosity about what I was capable of that made Hannibal set me up. Either way, it became a mess the way things I’m involved in often do. Tobias went to Hannibal’s office, both he and Hannibal’s patient ended up dead. He was cleared for self-defense. He seemed to be genuinely relieved to see that I was alright. He always seemed so genuinely happy when I survived any tests or trials he forced upon me. He was feeding this- this _monster_ inside of me.” He stops himself when tears prick his eyes.

“Darling, you are not a monster.” Nigel wipes his hands on a napkin, finished eating, and thumbs away a tear from his new companion’s face. Will almost brushes him off out of reflex but is able to keep from doing so and lets himself enjoy the friendly touch. ”You don't look like one,” he strokes the scar on the side of Will’s face, ”you don't act like one, you aren't what he has convinced you that you are. You're just you, Will.” Nigel takes his hand back and Will misses its warmth. He takes another bite of his pizza, realizing he’d half-forgotten about its existence in front of him.

“You haven't heard the worst of it, don't make your conclusion yet.” He deflects, feeling too warm from how confidently Nigel dispelled his self-loathing and now fearing Nigel will end up taking it back. “Long story short- shorter anyway, my encephalitis got worse. Because I was feeling so lost, I ended up relying on Dr. Lecter for stability. I even came onto him because of my consistent uncertainty and lack of control. And so, doped up on aspirin and with a hospital high fever, I let him take me to bed. I needed something or someone to ground me and he became that for me. Little did I know that he was facilitating my decline. He was inducing a seizure response in my brain. I got a scan but the findings were hidden from me. I was told they couldn’t find anything wrong so it must be a psychological issue. Hannibal killed the doctor to cover his tracks and intended to frame me for it but instead framed the poor girl whose case I was working, Georgia Madchen.” He’s starting to shake, anger bubbling to the surface. 

Nigel covers Will’s hand with his own, grounding him in the present. “Want a drink?” 

Will nods almost desperately, “God yes.” 

Nigel chuckles and gets up, grabbing a bottle and two glasses. “Couch?” He questions and smiles when Will picks up the pizza box to move it to the living room. They settle down, much more comfortable now, and Will finally finishes his second slice.

“Uh, anyway…” he tries to remember where he was, “yeah, so Hannibal’s/The Chesapeake Ripper’s copycat, Abel Gideon escaped. I ended up finding him and took him to Hannibal, although at the time I had thought he was Garret Jacob Hobbs. I couldn’t tell what was real anymore. I had another seizure and Hannibal sent Abel after Alana while I was unconscious, he wanted to give me a reason to kill. He woke me and sent me after Abel. I’m not a great shot so he lived, but so did Alana so it was a win in everybody’s book except for maybe Hannibal’s. My condition couldn’t be ignored anymore and I was hospitalized. They still couldn’t figure out what was wrong but they treated the infection.” He pauses to drink and motions for Nigel to fill it up again.

After refreshing himself he settles back down and moves onto the next act, “then he killed Georgia. Bodies seemed to be piling up with me as the only connection between them. I began to put it together that the copycat from the Garret Jacob Hobbs case was the doctor’s killer too as well as Georgia’s. This obviously and unfortunately made me suspicious to Jack and the others because of my mental state and connection to the cases. I was the immediate suspect. I took Abigail to Minnesota to try and get a better understanding but I lost time. Woke up in my house covered in mud with scratches on my arms. I threw up a human ear, _Abigail’s_ ear. Of course, the person I called for help was none other than Hannibal. My most trusted friend.” He has to drink at that, downing the glass once more.

“They booked me for her murder and I can’t blame them, the evidence was all there, more than there. I thought I was insane, I didn’t even have my own memories to guarantee my innocence to myself. Then they said that my fishing lures had human remains, and said that I was a serial killer. That was what made it click that I was being set up. If it were just Abigail then I could believe it, but I wasn’t a serial killer. So I escaped custody and went to Minnesota with Hannibal, I saw him for the first time there, saw him for what he really was. I tried to kill him but Jack shot me before I could.” Will points to the healed gunshot wound on his shoulder. “We all wish Jack had just let me end it there. Put the monster to rest. Too bad everyone thought I was crazy at the time. I was in a mental hospital for the criminally insane for a bit because of how much evidence he planted on me and in my house. I mean I did throw up an ear, that was a fact and made it extremely difficult to dispute my guilt.” He still feels ill when he thinks about it, he decides he’s done eating. 

“Hannibal’s psychiatrist visited me, Bedelia Du Maurier. She told me she believed me and that meant a lot because I wasn’t alone in my suspicion of Hannibal anymore. If I wasn’t alone then I wasn’t as crazy as everyone told me I was. I got a good friend to look into things on the outside while I searched my own head for answers, she found something and he killed her for it. He…” Will stops to take a breath, momentarily overwhelmed. His voice sounds brittle when he speaks next, _“he displayed her to punish me.”_ If only she’d gone to Jack instead of digging. He tries to avoid mulling over it.

“I got Abel Gideon in the cell next to me. Hannibal still had a bone to pick with him, you could say that I hastened him along on his path towards death but it’s not like he didn’t deserve it. Then I got one of the orderlies to try and kill Hannibal, Matthew Brown. He was certainly fascinated with me, and very eager to please.” He mentally notes that that was another killer who wanted to be close with him, wanted to be seen by him. He remembers how proud Hannibal was to see his commitment to killing him. “I was eventually released because Hannibal got _lonely_ without me and made a mess that absolved me of any involvement. Poor Miriam Lass was brainwashed to hell and back to clear him, _two years is a long time to have Hannibal in your head,”_ he comments, noting that he’s had Hannibal in his head for more than that. “At least I didn’t lose an arm, _just my mind.”_ It’s self-deprecating humor and Nigel snorts but runs a hand through loose brown curls in comfort so that Will knows he isn’t laughing at him.

“I went to kill him but somehow I just couldn’t do it. I got swept away.” He doesn’t want to admit what happened next. “I slept with him that night.” Nigel’s eyebrows raise at that. “I know, I clearly have a screw loose and should have never left the hospital.” He laughs dryly. “I convinced myself after the fact that it was only to deceive him, to catch him. We had a big plan. I killed for that plan. Self-defense,“ he assures, “though I did mutilate the body afterward. I convinced myself that it was also just to maintain my cover.” He wishes he could pull the wool back over his own eyes.

“I got a girl pregnant, Margot Verger. I was already beginning to feel a bond to barely more than the idea of a child. Hannibal took that away from me too. He doesn’t want me to have anything that isn’t him.” He has to stop for a moment, he’s never laid it all out before, not like this. It’s liberating, the opportunity to just be honest about things he’s even been lying to himself about. “Mason Verger got what was coming to him, I don’t shed any tears for him or his martinis. I do wish Hannibal hadn’t decided to have the man feed his face to my dogs. ‘Broadening their palates.’” He doesn’t look into Nigel’s eyes, not wanting to see his response to that particularly gruesome detail. He knows his life is a mess, he doesn’t need a judging look to confirm that.

“He knew what I was doing. ‘If you think you’re about to catch Hannibal, that’s because he wants you to think that, don’t fool yourself into believing that he is not in control of what’s happening.’ That’s what his psychiatrist said.” He sighs, “what idiots we had been... They were closing in on him and I called him- warned him. I wanted him to run away, I wanted to go with him. It went horribly; Jack tried to kill Hannibal, he failed, Alana tried, and she failed too. Abigail- _Abigail_ just did what she was told.” That one still stings. He can still see her, feel the blood seeping between his fingers as he tried desperately to save her. “Abigail was my punishment.” He swirls his glass as he recounts, “Hannibal really poured his heart out that night, as he cut me, as I _begged_ for her life.” He downs the glass and brings Nigel’s hand to his stomach, allowing him to run a finger gingerly along the smile on his abdomen.

“He gutted you for love?” Nigel frowns, guessing the surrogate child didn’t make it, “is she...”

“Yeah, he still slit her throat, let her fall, and then leaned down to chide me for daring to move against him, for breaking _his_ heart.” Will doesn’t know how he managed to move past that horrible act, doesn’t know if he has. “I hunted him down in Florence. Told him I forgave him. Jack tried to kill him again, got close but he didn’t commit. He said he needed me to do it and so I went in for another attempt at Hannibal’s life, this time with a knife. Chiyoh shot me that time, a little bird of Hannibal’s, the one who shoved me off the train.” He points to the round scar on his right shoulder. “He softly scolded me again, put the knife back in my hand.” _‘You dropped your forgiveness, Will.’_ He shudders, he can still hear him so clearly, whispers under his skin. “He injected me with something that lessened the pain as well as put my consciousness far away. I vaguely remember hearing him lament not having the time to make love to me one last time. Jack came and failed once again.” He points to the scar on his forehead. “Hannibal force-fed me soup that would improve my flavor. _‘More for my sake than yours’_ is what he said.” He gets chills just thinking about it and by the way Nigel wiggles in discomfort, it seems he did too. “He was in the middle of cutting me open when the bounty hunters showed up.” Nigel is speechless now, he thought his life was pretty intense but Will has been living in a fucking horror movie. 

“We were taken to Muskrat Farm, Hannibal seemed to be having a grand ole time. They were going to cut my face off and transplant it to Mason Verger.” He points out the scar on the left side of his face. “Alana freed Hannibal and then he saved me, carried me away, and held me close like he hadn’t just attempted to murder me. The next morning I rejected him flatly. I told him I didn’t want to think about him, that I didn’t want to be with him. Told him to go. He looked more human right then than I had ever seen him. I almost wanted to take it back.” His laugh is humorless and laced with melancholy. “He surrendered to the police solely so I would know exactly where he was. _Such a romantic,”_ he comments that bit sarcastically. 

“Shouldn’t that be the story over? Book closed.” Nigel squeezes his hand, knowing it isn’t, knowing Will must’ve had something to do with the fact that the story does indeed continue. From everything he’s heard so far, it seems that Will is constantly on a self-destructive path. Hannibal may nudge him but Will steps onto the gravel of it himself more times than not.

“Should’ve been but Jack brought me back. After three years of peace, I mean I had a family, a wife, a stepson, and a pack of dogs. Jack has a pattern of using me even when he and everyone else knows it’s dangerous. _Especially_ when I’m reluctant to get involved.” Irritation edges into his voice. “I needed to see Hannibal, so I went. From the moment our eyes met, he was right back inside my head, _so fucking easily_.” They both ignore the silent, ‘he never left,’ and leave it as it were. “Of course, he found a way to take my family from me, sent a killer after them. The Great Red Dragon, he didn’t care for the name Toothfairy. They survived but things wouldn’t go back to the way they were. I got a man mutilated and burned in my efforts to catch The Dragon, then I came up with a new plan. The perfect bait, Hannibal.” He glances up at Nigel, the man intently focused, pulling out a much-needed cigarette. None of the dreaded judgment Will feared he’d see.

“I knew he’d escape, all he needed was the opportunity so I gave him that. I knew he wouldn’t be caught again, I didn’t want him to be caught again. I set him free upon the world. I probably deserve him for that… We went to a house on the edge of a bluff. That was the last time I slept with him.” He pours another glass and downs half of it. “We killed the Dragon together. Hannibal was shot, I was stabbed. We were covered in blood and he looked at me like he could wish for nothing more. I saw him and he saw me. I tried one last time to kill him, _us._ Threw us off the cliff and to the water below. _‘Can’t live with him. Can’t live without him.’_ You can imagine my disappointment when I woke up on the shore with him patting my face.” He inhales a deep breath, nicotine tainting the air now. “Bedelia was useful but her death had been a long time coming. We then stayed in a motel for a couple of nights while I made my plan to run. He was drugging me heavily so I slept through the night. He seemed to have a sense that I might want to leave. That was as good a sign as any that I was making the right choice. We would never be on equal footing, he would never trust me, and being Hannibal’s pet psychopath isn’t the life I want for myself. One night I purged the painkillers and once I was sure that he was asleep, I ran. I kept running until I got here.” He’s back to the present, he’s sweating a little from the rehashing of events. “You know the rest. Still so sure that I'm not a monster?”

_”_ _Definitely_ not a monster, Will. You just suffered by the hands of one.” He makes honest eye contact so he's sure it gets through to Will. “Now, for all the badassery I hear you talking about, all I had to do was fucking speak to you to make you faint.” It lightens the mood and Will smiles, leaning further against Nigel. They sit like that for a few peaceful moments, a true calm. It can’t last though, Nigel has to ask, “so what happens if he finds you, besides him trying to kill me? You’ve painted a clear picture of who he is, do I have torture to look forward to?”

Will clears his throat, uncomfortable, but the man deserves to know what he’s dealing with. “He’ll likely come with the intention to do it quickly and get you out of the way, just a pest to be stomped. -However, if he thinks that I care for you then it's almost guaranteed that he'll want to use you to hurt me. He’s theatrical and loves to wax poetic. I already know he won’t like your clothes or your mouth so you’ve already got one foot in the grave. If you prove yourself as a rival and not a pig then he’ll treat you as such. Rivals are beaten, pigs are stuck, pests are stomped.” He hates how often he speaks in metaphors and can hear Hannibal speaking within him. “If he catches me I’m sure he’ll take my legs or sever my tendons or something, he’ll want to make sure I can’t run from him again.” It’s a nasty thought but the truth of it makes both of their blood go cold. Nigel refuses to allow that to happen, he holds Will closer. If it has to end in blood then so be it, but it won’t be Will’s if Nigel has any say in the matter.


	4. Disparities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has a nightmare.

They had fallen asleep on the couch with Nigel holding Will in his arms. Will’s body starts to shake and he mumbles, sweat starting to bead on his skin. His eyes flicker behind his eyelids as real memories twist with false nightmares. _“Hannibal…”_ His brow furrows and he turns his head to the side.

_Hannibal is kissing him, touching him, gutting him. His blood pours and Hannibal looks at him with sad eyes, “I let you know me, let you see me. I gave you a rare gift, but you didn’t want it.” Tears fill those reptilian red eyes and make them appear human. “Tilt your head back, close your eyes, wade into the quiet of the stream.” Water floods in, bodies are flowing down his stream and the water rushes red. He clutches at his abdomen and suddenly he’s stitched up, healed, and scarred. It still feels like something is crawling under the skin, it feels like the scar doesn’t belong to him, Hannibal has laid claim to a piece of him. The water consumes him, he reaches for the surface but it’s further and further away from him the more he outstretches his arm. Water and blood fill his lungs as he sinks like he’s made of concrete._

_His lungs burn for air and then it isn’t water stealing his breath away, it’s Hannibal’s hands around his neck. Will pushes at stitched wrists but they’re like hot iron and won’t let go. Stars burst behind his eyes as the pressure builds and Hannibal thrusts deep within him. Sutures sprout like weeds on his belly and Hannibal removes one hand from his throat to touch them, he slides a nail across them before plucking at the seam and causing them to pop open one by one. “Time did reverse...” Will feels no blood flow from him, he struggles to look down. It’s just a scar, Hannibal is only stroking it with a finger. Even though he can feel the sutures snapping, and can hear it, he’s just caressing the scar gently._

_When he reaches up towards Hannibal he notices how black his hands are, as black as they were when they shone in the moonlight at the ever eroding bluff. “It’s beautiful.” The hand completely releases his throat to draw him back into a kiss. Will can feel him inside, filling him with temptation and raw instinct, “Hannibal…” He watches the stag die in the corner with Abigail but his gaze is pulled away to instead focus on his lover. He locks eyes with what must be his destiny. He moans as Hannibal nuzzles him and kisses his neck, sucking and licking at the bruising skin. Will’s antlers push from his skull, growing further, and tearing into the satin silk as he’s pushed over the edge by a hand on his cock and teeth sinking into his neck._

_“Killing must feel good to god too, he does it all the time.” His throat is torn out by sharp teeth, blood spraying out and covering them both. Hannibal appears to mirror him, his throat also gouged, scar across his belly, and antlers protruding from his skull._

_Their heartbeats are one, their voices merge, “We are conjoined…” Everything begins to blur, Hannibal disappears into smoke, Will is wet with blood, alone, cold, and trembling._

“Will?” Nigel calls, shaking him gently. His eyes open and he isn’t alone anymore. Will’s breath is labored and he comes to the startling realization that he has an erection from that horrible nightmare. He covers his mouth when his nausea rises, he hops up and runs to the bathroom, vomiting into the toilet. He can’t believe it, he leans back against the tub disgusted with himself. Why does he still react to the monster that broke him? He can feel Nigel’s presence but he can’t really hear anything over the ringing in his ears. He stays like that, curled up and trying to remember how to breathe until his shoulder is touched, and he jerks away automatically. Nigel sits down on the tile floor right next to him.

“I’m sorry.” Will apologizes, eyes clenched shut, and fingers laced together firmly white.

“Will, darling, you have nothing to be apologizing for.” He doesn’t touch Will again to avoid upsetting the live wire but just stays there, a comforting presence. Will doesn’t know how long it takes before he decides he needs to stand up. His legs are half asleep but he manages it. Nigel gets up too, making sure not to be in the way. Will flushes the toilet and brushes his teeth with now only slightly trembling hands. 

He follows Nigel into the bedroom and grabs his hand, “Nigel.” The man turns around and is surprised when Will hugs him, hanging his head. Will hides against Nigel’s chest, face buried at his neck. “Thank you.” He sniffles, trying his best to hold the tears back. He rarely had nightmares when he was with Hannibal but that was likely due to being drugged. Comfort after he has one is all he can ask for now. Nigel’s hands are so much hotter than Hannibal’s, he feels safe with them holding him steady. 

“You’re welcome, maybe sleeping in an actual bed instead of on the couch will help,” Nigel suggests and Will nods even though he knows it won’t be enough to keep the terrors at bay. Nigel reluctantly pulls away from the embrace to pull the blankets back for them. He pulls off his shirt, Will’s sweat and tears have made a wet spot on the fabric. Will climbs into bed, his body is still stiff and tense. Nigel settles next to him, opting to lay on his back instead of spooning the slightly smaller man. He doesn’t want Will to feel like he’s being trapped or forced to have the contact. Nigel softly smiles when after a couple of minutes Will scoots over to him. He rests his head on Nigel’s arm, his pale arm falling to lay across Nigel’s chest. Nigel whispers, “I’ll protect you.” 

Will smiles, “What if I told you I didn’t want your protection?”

“Too fucking bad.” A smirk plays on Nigel’s lips, he’s got fuck all else to do and Will is the most interesting person he thinks he’s ever met. “I want you to be mine, gorgeous, and you can’t be mine if he comes and takes you.” 

“Nigel, I won’t be yours and I’m not his. I’m not a possession.” He argues the point a little bit but he at least enjoys the distinction between Nigel’s ‘I _want_ you to be mine’ versus Hannibal’s ‘you _are_ mine.’ He much prefers this man who has determined himself to be Will’s protector without pretense over the man who determined himself to be Will’s handler, his _owner._ Hannibal loved being asked for help, _‘I can help you, if you ask me to,’_ being the knight in bloody armor there to save the day even if he caused the mess to begin with. No, _especially_ if he caused the mess to begin with. Will would love to never beg for anything again. He hopes he won’t have to beg for Nigel’s life in the near future but fears the possibility.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos brighten my day and Comments make my whole week!


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